How Does Your (Spiritual) Garden Grow?

Magical days are born Out West, and they just get more magical. Where else could I turn a 4-hour drive into an all-day project and take delight in every single minute of it? And the greatest delight of all was in sharing the experiences today with Matt, and seeing everything through his eyes as if for the first time. My grandson has been so utterly delighted with what he saw and did today that it just makes my heart soar.

Devils Tower National Monument in Wyoming is an amazing structure that sprouts out of the ground and goes almost 1300 feet straight up. It is made up of columns of ancient igneous rock, and many years ago some of these columns broke off high up and rolled down the hillside. It’s astounding to see a chunk of rock the size of a house, lying on the ground; then to look up and realize where it came from on this monolith and what havoc it must have wreaked when it tumbled. Around the foot of the monolith lies a field of boulders, many acres in size, and we did some climbing among them. I went up as far as I felt safe, and Matt went all the way up to the signs that warn it’s a federal offense to go farther without being registered. Coming back down was easily as rigorous as going up, perhaps more so. And given the high altitude, we were both pretty worn out!

From there, we started the trek to Buffalo, Wyoming, to make our way over the mountain. Greybull, my brother’s town, lies between the Big Horn mountains and the Greybull River, with the Grand Tetons beckoning farther to the west.

What makes this area so spectacular is that every small turn of the path reveals a new and splendidly different vista. It’s as true of the road across the mountain as it is of the Devils Tower and surrounding valleys, and especially of the sights along the road from Buffalo to Ten Sleep. That’s what stretched our day out. We were up at 6 a.m. and at Devils Tower before 9 a.m. One hike around the shorter trail, two climbs, and at least a dozen stops for views and pictures later, we were finally ready to leave around 11:30. After lunch in Gillette, we continued on I-90 toward Buffalo. Then when we were almost through the mountains, we stopped at one of the overlooks and spent some time taking pictures and just drinking in the view, and talking.

We were looking down at a valley with a lovely stream running through it, with mountains — walls and towers of solid rock — on both sides. The road is an insignificant and very late addition to the scene. We imagined what it would have been like to explore this wild, beautiful land before any roads had marked and crossed it, and the prospect was both daunting and enticing. We imagined the challenges and delights of traveling with a bedroll, tent, and some food, of walking over the land with no idea of what lay beyond the next rise, with no town just over the hill where supplies could be refreshed, no cooler full of drinks and fresh fruit to sustain us. And no noise except that made by God’s own creatures.

We talked a great deal, after leaving the mountain behind, about how our lives get planned, and how important it is to follow one’s own heart and imagination rather than being locked into what one “should” do or what everyone else does. People often look askance at someone they perceive as a “free spirit,” as if the designation as a “free spirit” carries with it a certain level of irresponsibility.

Here I am, just now at the age of 68, living pretty much exactly as I want to live. What took me so long? Why must we wait for retirement to do such things? Why do we place such a high value on stability and so little on having a sense of adventure and on being awake and alive to the serendipity that is — that ought to be — life?

Tonight, we are at my brother and sister-in-law’s home in Greybull, and loving the sense of family and love that surrounds us. Tomorrow, after I go to Mass just down the street, it’s on to hiking adventures at Devils Kitchen nearby. We have several days of activity planned here before we head for Yellowstone later in the week. Adventures abound! Serendipity is just around every corner, waiting to be discovered and unleashed.

This day was truly amazing, from start to finish. Matt and I were just talking a few minutes ago about how much we did — and today is only the first day of the trip, and we are still in Michigan! So this will be a “Pure Michigan” blog post.

Most people probably would agree that driving in Michigan doesn’t get really interesting until you are north of the Gaylord area. Sure, there are things to do south of there, but the drive itself is pretty ordinary. And then you get into the wonderful hills and vistas, and you really are “Up North.” Our crossing of the Mackinac Bridge was uneventful, unlike some of the tales I heard from Sunday’s storms. Bright sun, almost no clouds, blue water — a picture perfect day. The first thing we did after crossing was stop at a scenic turnout to get some pictures looking back at the bridge.

In fact, we made several stops for short hikes and to enjoy the beauty of northern Lake Michigan along US-2. Then we turned north on M-77, and west on M-28, to reach our destination. We have a spot for the night at a campground just west of Munising, and if you hold your tongue just so you can see Lake Superior from our site. I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly we got the tent up (yes, I helped!) — and then we were ready to do a little exploring.

There’s the beaten path, of course — the things everyone does. And then there is the road less traveled (apologies to M. Scott Peck). We chose the latter today, and we both were glad we did. Pictured Rocks is a lovely sight, and we were simply too late for the boat tours. Instead, Matt went waterfall-hunting online, and got us over to Wagner Falls. There again, we could take the boardwalk and see a pretty cascade tumbling over the rocks — or we could find the real trail and see the rest of it. It was a pretty rough trail, and great fun to hike and climb. And above that first cascade, we found waterfall after waterfall plunging down the hillside. It made me think about all the beauty we can miss when we are so attached to our routines and to doing “what people do” instead of expanding our comfort zones. I’m half a dozen waterfalls richer tonight, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that I conquered a fairly difficult trail without any mishaps. My shoes and the seat of my pants are a little muddy, but that’s part of the deal.

Having my grandson along on this trip is a wonderful thing on two fronts: I get to watch him enjoying this beautiful scenery and the experiences of this trip, and he’s my courage — courage to try new things and to create a new, ever-expanding version of “normal.” With him along, I’ll do things and try things that I simply wouldn’t attempt traveling on my own.

After the hike, we stopped at a jaw-dropping scenic overlook that gave a great view of the Pictured Rocks shoreline in the distance. With the help of my 16×50 binoculars, Matt was able to get a nice picture of the shoreline on his phone. That’s as close as we will get this trip. And then we stopped at the Grand Island Ferry station, and although they were closed at the moment, we decided then and there that Grand Island is going to be a great idea for a future trip. People can take the ferry over, and stay on the island for hours to several days, hiking and camping. There’s nothing much over there except woods, trails, a few toilets and the occasional water spigot. The signs encourage people to gear up properly to spend time on the island.

Finally, it was back to the campsite, where we fired up the camp stove and made s’mores. You have to have s’mores when you camp. The camp office had pre-packaged supplies for making them, and they tasted wonderful.

And here we are at the end of Day 1. It’s a beautiful evening, and we are right out in it. Downside: apparently there is no hot water in the showers. I suspect that means a Huggies wipes bath for me. Intrepid though I am, I can see no benefit for me in a cold shower!

Cheer us on, my friends! The adventure is just beginning. I think it may need a slight detour via the ibuprophen bottle, but it’s definitely on!

Of course, I was awake at 5:00 this morning. It happens every time I am getting ready to travel, and it makes me think of that wonderful TV commercial from a few years ago. It’s the night before a trip to Disney World, and the parents are trying to get the little ones to settle down. And this adorable little boy says, with the most delightful giggle in his voice, “We’re too excited to sleep!” That’s me, the night before a trip. All my life. There is something about beginning an adventure!

So yesterday I had this moment where I was sure we’d never get everything into the Equinox. Sophie is roomy but she does have limits. My grandson, Matt, and I got to work yesterday afternoon loading things, and amazingly, it all fits!

Rewind just a little. Earlier in the afternoon, I enjoyed a little pre-trip lunch with Mary, Matt, and Michael. Between Michael’s razzing about the selfie-stick we are taking, Mary’s very sincere (and hilarious) talks with Matt and me about how to deal with each other on a long road trip, and Matt’s and my reactions to her assessments of likely issues (??!), I laughed louder and more joyfully than I have in a very long time. When she said, “You know how I can be just a little grouchy once in awhile? Well, I come by that honestly” — Well, I just felt compelled to respond with, “See? She comes by it honestly. It’s not inherited.”

Really. I think I have mellowed considerably over time. I’m a much more patient person than I was when I was raising my children! Anyway, Matt and I agreed that we are going to get along just fine.

Back to the gear-loading. It quickly became apparent that the 12-volt cooler wasn’t going to hold everything, so I grabbed the old green-and-white Coleman out of storage. That cooler is way over 25 years old and has held the bevers and food for many, many good times. It was Tom’s long before we got together, and it has been around! I dare say this is the first time it’s chilled out with dry ice, though. I didn’t even know you could buy dry ice at Meijer.

What an odd mixture we have packed. High tech stuff like laptop and Surface notebook; iPad and Bluetooth speaker; and then there’s the camp stove, tent, and canopy, complete with battery-pump air mattresses and sleeping bags. All kinds of groceries. A little entertainment — cards, a cribbage board, a DVD, and of course my knitting and some reading material. Clothing — for hot days and chilly nights. The question that cannot be answered until we get back: What things are we taking that we will end up never using?

That little obsessive-compulsive part of my brain is screaming quietly about not having a place to sleep lined up for every night of the trip. I finally got it to quiet down by doing a little online research, late last night. It seems that we should not have much trouble, especially as we are willing to use motels if we can’t find a tent site.

Last night, I took JD over to Paws A Playin for his own vacation. He made himself right at home, and several of his home-away-from-home pals arrived later in the evening, so he is all set to have a great time too.

And so, the time has come to comb my hair, put on my shoes, load the final items into Sophie, pick up Matt, and head out. By this afternoon, we’ll be hiking and perhaps even kayaking at Pictured Rocks!

Tomorrow is the day! The 2015 “Road and Camping Trip Extraordinaire” goes live Wednesday morning at 7 a.m.!

My travel companion this year is my youngest grandson, Matt. I am putting him in charge of tent-pitching and music, as well as locating the next campground.

For the record, I haven’t slept in a tent in something like 24 years. The last time was on a trip to the Leelanau Peninsula with a friend from work, back in 1990 or 1991. Two memories of that trip really stand out: Getting sold a bundle of very green firewood by the young son of the campground’s owner (what an entrepreneur!) and getting my feet drenched when my tentmate spilled her beer late in the evening. All in all, though, I loved the whole experience and enjoyed the trip immensely.

So, Tom and I never went camping. He said he had his fill of it when he was in the Army in the 1950s, and I respected that. As I never spent time in the military, I had no way of knowing what his experience had been. I just had to take his word for it that he had no wish to go camping.

And here I am in 2015, ready to take on the adventure once again. Thank goodness for online lists; I think we are fairly well-prepared. Today is given over to final preparations, packing the car, and getting JD, the little brown spotted puppy dog, to his home-away-from home at Paws A Playin in Grand Ledge.

For his first 10 years, JD was never boarded. We did not like the notion of leaving him “alone” at a kennel with cyclone fences and concrete floors and dogs and people he didn’t know. But a commitment to taking JD along sometimes limited where I could travel and what I could do when I got there, so when a friend opened this dog-boarding business in her home, I was ready to try it. First, JD stayed over a couple of long weekends while I traveled to Chicago for celebrations with some old school friends. Then he stayed for five days while my brother and sister-in-law and I traveled to Niagara Falls; that time, when I took him over there, he couldn’t wait to get outside with the other dogs and start the butt-sniffing process. He didn’t even know when I left!

It’s good for my soul to know that JD is part of the family when he goes there, and I really enjoy the daily Facebook posts on the Paws A Playin page, where Jamie puts perfectly captioned pictures of her guests and her own pets. Thanks to her, I really have no concerns about leaving my little buddy for 2 weeks. I’ll miss him, but I’ll know he is having his own vacation.

Search Paws A Playin on Facebook if you’d like to follow JD’s summer vacation as well as following me on Journey 4.0!

Today’s going to be busy. Sophie needs a wash-and-vacuum. I still have a few borrowed items to pick up, and then I need to get some basic groceries. I need to get the 12-volt/AC cooler going so it is ready for the trip. I think I had better pack some clothes, too! Traveling out West at this time of year requires a double wardrobe. We will see some days with highs in the 60s and lows in the 30s; we will also see some days in the 90s in the high desert of Wyoming, but it looks like the warmest nights will be in the mid-50s. So, shorts and tank tops, jeans and sweatshirts, a mid-weight jacket — all necessary, along with good socks, hiking shoes, and ordinary shoes. We will load up gear later in the afternoon, and hit the road around 7 a.m. tomorrow.

Journey 4.0. I look back on the traveling I’ve done in the past three years, and I marvel at the great memories. My laptop is full of wonderful pictures from all of the trips. What began as therapy with that first trip in September, 2012, has evolved into an annual tradition, seeing favorite sights and adding new experiences, and visiting with some of my favorite people along the way.

The only thing I regret, just a little, is how cautious I feel I need to be along the way. It’s a simple fact that a woman traveling alone is vulnerable. I have to think twice about engaging people  — strangers — in conversation. Exchanging a few casual words is one thing, but I feel a need to be very careful how much information I give out. The very thing that has made these trips interesting — that I am quite the intrepid solo adventurer — makes me just a bit more vulnerable. When I went on Journey 2013, one of my brothers traveled with me, and I felt less vulnerable. Likewise, having my big strong grandson with me this year will help me feel safer. And always, always, I am reminded to pray for safety and protection. St. Christopher is quite familiar with my wanderings, and I’m pretty sure I have one of the busiest guardian angels apart from those who take care of our police and military personnel!

Now it’s time to get busy — to get this show on the road! Let the adventures begin!

Sometimes when I am having my cup of morning coffee and perusing the good old Facebook news feed, I come across something that sparks my mind — that says, “Right there! You have to write about that!”

Today, what caught my eye was an item announcing that the levels of the Great Lakes are rising! Rising so much that beaches and shorelines are eroding! Why, Lake Huron has risen something like 34 inches!

Water and waves and erosion, oh my!

Let’s see. It was just a little over 15 years ago that Tom and I were frequently visiting the Tawas City, MI, area and finding that lake levels were dropping quite drastically. We were seeing things along the shores of Lake Huron and Tawas Bay — old pilings and rocks and ships’ skeletons — that we’d not seen in several years of frequenting the area. One small inland lake nearby actually disappeared completely. If you followed the sign for “Lake Chappelle – Lakefront Lots!” you came to a large dry bowl at the end of the road. It didn’t even support lake-type weeds any more.

Panic gripped the populace. Tourism would be dead! Michigan’s economy would fail, because it relied so heavily on tourism!

At the time, I kept remembering articles I’d read in the not-too-distant past about increasingly high water levels in the Great Lakes causing shoreline and beach erosion. I recalled articles cautioning against building homes and cottages on the high bluffs overlooking parts of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron because erosion had caused some such structures to collapse.

So, a recap: According to NOAA data, around 1985, high water levels and lake shore erosion created big concerns; in the early 2000s, shrinking water levels were a problem such that we saw docks that extended over many yards of mud before reaching open water; and after 2013, the lake levels began rising again. If one looks at historical records, one sees a cycle, 15-20 years in length, of waxing and waning water levels in the Great Lakes and, to some extent, in inland lakes. By the way, that little lake that disappeared in the mid-1990s? It’s back, and someone made  a sizable financial haul selling those (finally) lakefront lots and building homes on them.

A cycle. Who knew? No matter what we humans do, the forces of nature will have their way. We humans strive for some kind of permanency and stability, we strive to control our habitat and surroundings so that we can assure our lasting comfort among them. And all the while, nature will have its way. The house on the bluff that cries out to be built in the days of low water levels will end up floating in the drink when the water levels rise again.

The moral of the story: If you live long enough, everything will change. Again.

Yesterday I found myself shaking my head at the notion that July, 2015, is all but tucked away in the history books. And that got me shaking my head at myself. “Self,” I said, “you should be much more involved with making history — irreverently, joyfully, boisterously making history — than marveling at how quickly time flies when you are having fun.”

Then I remembered something I wrote awhile back about getting the word should out of my vocabulary, so I decided to just get busy doing it.

This business of the big late-summer trip has become something of a tradition. The first trip, in 2012, was an ambitious and audacious undertaking wherein I loaded myself, my little brown spotted puppy dog, and almost everything I owned — well, at least most of my clothing — into my new Chevy Equinox, dubbed Sophie; notified my family across the country that I was coming to stay; and took off for almost five weeks and 5,260 miles on the road. That’s almost a mile of miles, people! Miles squared, you might say. I had been a widow for just two months when I took off. That trip involved two journeys — one through the beautiful country we live in, the other through the twists and turns of early grieving. I survived both, and arrived home at the end marveling at the graciousness of all my family, who weren’t fazed at all by my announcement that I would be showing up to stay a few days with them. Without exception, they welcomed me and my dog, JD, cherished and comforted us, then sent us on our way with a bit more love to carry us.

If you do something twice, it’s a tradition, right? So the Journey in 2013 changed up just a little. My brother from Georgia hit the road with me, and along the way we deepened our brother-sister connection as we spent hours talking and hours being quiet together, and time sharing memories with our other brothers along the way. We played it by ear, finding a place to stay at the end of each day on the road, and I learned that sometimes journeys are better when they aren’t quite as thoroughly planned out.

By the time 2014 rolled around, I had made some pretty major lifestyle changes, and I changed up the Journey just a bit as well. This time, I was leaving from The Little House In The Woods By The Lake, so I chose a route through Michigan’s beautiful Upper Peninsula and northern Minnesota, across North Dakota and Montana down into Wyoming. New sights, new wonders; a couple of very interesting (if somewhat eerie) hotel experiences, and an altogether different experience. By this time, I had some favorite spots to visit in Wyoming, and after enjoying them, I took a day to visit Yellowstone for the first time. The only thing you want after a visit to Yellowstone is … more Yellowstone. I left Wyoming via beautiful Wind River Canyon, and began thinking about my next trip before I hit the state line.

Almost as soon as I got home from Journey 2014, more changes began to roll. I moved back to Lansing and, a few months later, sold TLHITWBTL. All the way back in January, I began thinking about what this year’s trip out west might look like, and something inspired me to ask two of my grandsons if they wanted to go along. As it developed, the trip was only going to work for the youngest grandson, so we began to plan.

I’ve named the trip “Journey 4.0” because this fourth trek really is a whole new version. As the plan has grown and changed shape over the past several months, it has become a whole different kind of adventure. What’s different with Journey 4.0?

Well, the little brown spotted puppy dog is staying in Michigan. I’ve found a wonderful home boarding placement for him. He’s stayed there three times now, and each time he has settled in better and learned more about how to be a dog. So he’s going to spend the 2 weeks at Paws A Playin.

And the biggest change: Journey 4.0 is going to be a camping and hiking adventure as well as a road trip. That completely changes the process of preparing for the trip, but change is what it’s all about, right?

The plan has evolved from “Hey, Matt, what would you think about camping some of the time on the trip?” to a plan that involves more camping than hotels. Matt has greeted the idea with great enthusiasm. We are borrowing some camping gear, and I’ve made a few judicious purchases, including a 12-volt cooler, battery pump-inflatable air mattresses, and my very own Coleman sleeping bag. We plan to eat as much non-processed, whole food as we can. We plan to do as much hiking as we can manage. We plan to find safe camping sites, and we’ll simply stay in hotels when we can’t find camping accommodations.

I’m preparing myself by working on fitness and endurance, by reducing and possibly even eliminating the need for caffeine, and by planning a route through upper Michigan again which will let us begin the adventures the very first day.

The plan for the trip is fairly loose, but it includes spending a few days in Wyoming so that we can see, and hike around, some of my favorite places there — including Devil’s Tower, which I discovered two years ago; Shell Falls, which soothes my soul; and Devil’s Kitchen and the Dinosaur Track Site which are simply amazing places. Then Yellowstone, and then back across the state of Wyoming to do at least partial justice to Wind River Canyon. Finally, we hope to head further south and west to see the Grand Canyon, and from there to drive home. All that in 16 days! The trip home may be fairly intense — 1,895 miles, 28 hours. But it’s through some areas I’ve never seen. We just need to give ourselves 4 days to make the trip back. So, as counterintuitive as it may seem, I’m going to have to sit down with a calendar and do at least some minimal scheduling.

The only rules of the road: When we spot something we want to see or do, we stop and see or do it. If that means we don’t make every spot we originally planned, all that means is that we have a start on plans for Journey 5.0!

Let this, then, be the first entry in the journal for Journey 4.0 (2015).

This happened.

Once upon a time, an ordinary woman and an ordinary man met, and in a flash they embarked on an extraordinary relationship. Their adventures spanned just over 21 years, and then he died. And she realized that their time together had changed her irrevocably and immeasurably, and that his death had changed things irretrievably.

That realization that nothing would ever be like it used to be took awhile to sink in, and to say that it was a most painful realization would be an understatement.

She knew that grief was going to take time, and she knew – even though she didn’t know how she knew it – that grieving was an individual and unpredictable process.

Along the way, she found that her willingness to embrace change became a way of coping and adjusting. In fact, she began to reach for change, for new experiences. For better or for worse, human nature tends to avoid change, so each change she reached for seemed to disguise itself as an ultimate goal – as “the way things will be from now on.”

She is me, and it has taken me awhile to sort out the experiences of the past three years and make some sense of them. And I find that it is difficult to write about these things without a sense that I am reaching for something I can’t quite identify. Perhaps that, too, is a part of this process.

Just a year after Tom died, I bought back the little house in the woods by the lake – fondly dubbed TLHITWBTL – and it felt like it was meant to be. When things fall into place so neatly, that’s what I think – it’s meant to be. I was going to have my house in Mason and my cottage up north. Living the dream.

Then as I spent more time at TLHITWBTL, I grew to love it more and more. Even as things broke and needed fixing, I simply regarded them as investments in a place I loved. By late fall, I knew I wanted to live there. It was a very simple thing to sell the house in Mason, downsize my clutch of possessions, pack up my life, and hire a mover.

I knew when I moved in that I would need a garage, so I reinvested the money from the sale of the Mason house to build one, and it was good.

I had adventures: I snowshoed, I hiked, I rowed on the lake and played golf in summer, I explored. I insulated and drywalled my garage, painted the exterior of my house, planted things, spread gravel to create a perfect driveway, and mowed my lawn; and it was good.

I could have spent the money on cruises and getaways and clothes and sparkly things. They would not have provided the kind of therapy that living amid the good memories, and accomplishing the crazy tasks I took on, provided for me.

Then one day I woke up and – I don’t know how else to describe it – I was done. Or maybe TLHITWBTL was done with me.

The solitude turned to isolation. As the autumn approached, I found myself dreading winter. I began to experience levels of anxiety I had never experienced before, especially as the afternoons wound down to evenings and darkness wrapped TLHITWBLT up tight.

One odd experience kept shoving its way into my consciousness. It was by no means a major factor, but it was a nagging little thing. One neighbor had found it necessary to share with me that I was the object of another neighbor’s fantasies, and I found both the fact and the sharing of it disturbing on some level. You see, the lifestyle at TLHITWBTL is long on solitude. For much of the time, the fantasizing neighbor and I would be the only humans within 100 yards. A nagging discomfort took root and would not be stilled.

I began to think about getting myself a little pied-a-terre in Lansing so that I could again spend time among family. Being a three-hour drive from everyone I really cared about was not working for me. When I came to Lansing for my younger daughter’s wedding in October, that sealed it, and I made appointments for a week later to begin looking.

The search was short. The first place I looked at was the right spot, and if I took it, the current tenant would be able to move to a 2-bedroom unit without paying a rent penalty. Everyone wins! And once again, when things work out so neatly, it feels like it is meant to be.

What a ride. I spent some money on basic furnishings with the idea that I would spend perhaps a third of my time here. I spent my first night here in mid-November, and when I went back to TLHITWBTL for a few days, I realized that I simply didn’t want to be there. And so the plan was hatched. I used my time up north to wrap things up, and by mid-December was I was a permanent resident of Lansing. (Really? Did I just say “permanent”?)

Several trips – a couple of overnighters and a couple of day trips – allowed me to swap out some furniture and get those things I really treasured moved to Lansing. Family members helped, giving their time and efforts without reservation. All this time, I was considering the place up north to be our future recreation spot – but I began to see that I no longer enjoyed being there and that the three-hour drive was not a great incentive to family members to go there either. THLITWBTL was in danger of becoming one of those places that gets used two or three times a year and sits alone the rest of the time. That didn’t seem like a good use of assets, and it didn’t seem like a good way to treat a little house with a big heart, so in April, I put the place on the market.

This is where things get interesting. Just 33 days after listing, I received an offer. I made a counter-offer, as one does, and the buyers accepted that first counter-offer! Another two months, with a few bumps along the way, and the sale was closed.

The best part? The buyer was the daughter of the man Tom had bought the house from back in 1993. This man had lost his wife to an aneurysm in January, 1993. TLHITWBTL was their retirement dream home, and when she died, he could no longer stand to spend a night there. Tom bought it, and we created a lot of wonderful memories there. Then after Tom’s cancer diagnosis, we decided the place would be better off with his sons; in 2013, a year after Tom died, it came back into my hands. When I put it on the market, a neighbor let the former owner’s daughter know, and she and her husband were in a position to buy it back. The closing was so emotional. She was overjoyed, and her husband and daughters were thrilled. The moment that really grabbed me? It was when we were leaving the building to get into our cars, and she told me that she and her sister had had so many good times at that house but had drifted apart after her father sold it, and she knew that having the house back in the family was going to draw them close again.

So here I am. All my family is within a couple of miles of me. I don’t own any real estate, and I’m pretty much a free spirit. And in the past three years, I’ve experienced – mostly as a willing participant – any number of changes that felt “meant to be” – that rang that “This is how it’s going to be from now on” bell.

“Meant to be” I get. Totally. But I have come to believe that “This is going it’s going to be from now on” is a trap.

Why a trap? Because along with everything else, this also happened: I found myself, as I progressed through all of these changes, questioning myself and even trying to explain – yes, justify – my decisions to myself, and worse, to others.

As I examined this rather alarming tendency, I began to realize that it was entirely based in fear. Yes, fear. Fear that I and others around me would judge me to be flighty and irresponsible and unable to stick with anything. Fear, especially, that I would forever flit from one meant-to-be, this-is-it-forever life situation to another, only to find that that wasn’t it after all. Fear that I would somehow constantly seek, and never quite find, that one thing, that only thing, that was going to make me happy.

What??! I wasn’t happy??!

What a question. What a trap. What a beastly way to surround myself with doubt, fear, and festering discontent.

Nothing is forever. I should have picked up on that when Tom died. After all, we were going to be forever, and then one day there was no “us.” Just me.

The secret is, I don’t need “forever.” The change, the huge, irrevocable, irretrievable change that began when Tom died, was not an event, not a moment. It is a process, a continuum, a journey. It needs no explanation and does not brook excuses for its existence. The flow of change is as inexorable as the flow of water over a brink that creates a spectacular waterfall. It is as small as the drip-drip-drip of water that eventually wears a hollow in a rock, and it is as huge as the flood that smashes earthen levees in a hurricane.

Change does not require justification; it requires only to be embraced and surrendered to. Change does not require explanation, which means looking back; it requires a sense of adventure, which looks only forward.

I have, for years, taught that the way to deal with change is to own it, and to focus one’s energy on those things over which one has control. As life flows around and through me, I realize that my attitudes and reactions really are the only things I control. Let me focus on the future, with an attitude of anticipation, and let me react with “Wow! What a ride!” whenever life steers me toward a new “meant-to-be.”

Tradition has New Year’s Day as the day for new beginnings and all of the possibilities that come with them. Who hasn’t made several New Year’s resolutions at the stroke of midnight, thinking of all the good to be achieved by keeping those resolutions – yet knowing, in your heart of hearts, that it’s only a matter of time until those resolutions are broken, one by one.

Today is New Year’s Eve, and I have been pondering for a few days now just what I will do with this new year that lies in front of me. I’ve thought about resolutions, and rejected the idea of making them. The other day, I suggested in a Facebook post that affirmations are a better idea than resolutions – that we could benefit from considering what was best about us in the year we just lived, and making affirmations that would propel us into the future. I said that resolutions are sure to be broken, but affirmations can grow stronger with time and repetition.

So what should one do? This time is so full of possibilities and potential. Anything might be accomplished, if we can just get the stars properly aligned and do all of the right things. What should one do?

I suggest that the first thing we should do is get the word should out of our everyday vocabularies. If Yoda were here to impart his wisdom, I think he would put should right up there with try. It fits: Imagine Luke saying, as he considers raising the spacecraft from the bog, “All right, I should.” And Yoda responding, ”Do… or do not. There is no should.”

Imagine the power unleashed when there is no should – when we just do.

In that context, the New Year becomes a time to decide and do. Rather than cobbling together lists of resolutions, why not start each day with a simple mantra: “I can do anything I want to do today.” And then do it.

Think how this approach keeps possibility alive. It’s based on today, and only today. There is no resolution to be kept, day after day, with our will to perform balanced precariously on the cusp of failure. There is no should with its inherent certainty of failure. Resolutions carry an expectation of perfection. Once made, they are good only so long as we keep them. Once broken, they are gone. And when we approach our days thinking about what we should do, we doom ourselves to a constant sense of incompletion. No matter what we do accomplish, there is always something more we should do. And ultimately, we are led to a terrible belief that we are always failing.

The idea that I can do anything I want to do today leads to a life built on free choices and decisions. What’s the difference between “I can” and “I should”? Let me illustrate.

I get up in the morning and tell myself in the mirror, “I can do anything I want to do today.”

Myself in the mirror reminds me that I am scheduled to work, and that is pretty much a “gotta,” isn’t it? Should on steroids, right?

I tell myself in the mirror that I most certainly do not have to go to work today. I can choose not to go to work. Of course, making that choice will lead to certain outcomes – but if I choose not to go to work, I am also choosing those outcomes. Choosing to go to work also will have certain outcomes. The key is that I get to choose.

Getting rid of should leads me into a life of freedom. When I can do anything I want to do today, it leads me into a life of choice. I am no longer doomed to the certain failure of an unkept resolution; I am no longer trapped in a world where I am never done with what I should be doing.

Like Yoda: Do… or do not. There is no should. Choose.